Alex H. Blythe

Sometimes I write stuff like poems or novels

[alexandhispen]

Me, at night , crouching in the dark, clutching my silly stories like a priest clutches his bible: I am a genius I am a god of words I am Shakespeare come again I am Edgar Allan Poe’s son and I am Emily Dickinson’s daughter I come from the stars with my bright and glorious wisdom, my humor has been sharpened like a blade, and the pen becomes my heart let the ink be my blood and I shall cut myself open to stain these pages with that which comes from within

Me, in the morning: why did I spell chess as cheese

[lizormianillustration]

whatever was left, that was ours for a while.

sunrise - louise glück

[lizormianillustration]

LizzieOrmian Shop | Redbubble

LizzieOrmian is an independent artist creating amazing designs for great products such as t-shirts, stickers, posters, and phone cases.

prints of this available now :)

[julieterbang]

[shisasan]

𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹

[ID: February 1. Nothing, merely tired. END ID]

[moonpaw]

*opens a file titled wip* hm. wrong one

*opens a file titled wip1* hm. wrong one

*opens a file titled wip2* hm. wrong one

*opens a file titled wip4* hm. wrong one

*opens a file titled wip3* hm. wrong one

*opens a file titled wiptest2* there you are

[titsay]

[alexandhispen]

You pat your characters on the head and tell them good job.

I spray mine with a water bottle and yell at them to stop pissing on my carpet.

We are not the same.

[alexandhispen]

Cigarettes

The urge itches in the back of my throat

My lungs already miss the burn of it

The smell still lingers in my coat

I am too weak to ever quit

So I go out, early in the morning, late at night

Put my money, my time, myself to waste

I must make make a desperate sight

Dying slowly for one last taste

But what can I say, my dear?

From all, I chose this very vice

It is my end, isn’t that clear? 

And I’ve gone and paid that price

I’ve smoked through a pack of cigarettes or two

But we both know I’ve already ruined myself with you

[alexandhispen]

"I was born in the desert, in the burning heat, in the never ending draught.

She was born in the sea, in the deepest waves, in the howling winds.

I am the quicksand she sink into when the sun rises in the west.

And she is the ocean I drown myself in when the sun sets in the east."

From "Scorpions and Sparrows"

[mixsethaddams]

“Oh my god you’re a writer? Can I read your stuff?”

[alexandhispen]

No, I don't have a plot for my book.

I have a vibe and these three ocs I found in a dumpster.

[alexandhispen]

Can we make stupid academia a thing? I want to read Shakespeare and Kafka because of the aesthetic, because they itch my brain just right but I also want to have zero thoughts about.